Your Cute When Your Dead
by LECandeh
Summary: The youngest Fenton, presumed to have been murdered, Danny, wakes up after a peaceful rest to find himself unable to speak to the living, he knows he is dead. But being dead does not mean that your free. Its one thing to be dead, but Danny is now DEATH.
1. Chapter 1

**Candeh- **I am dressed in black for the funeral you are about to take part in. Please take a seat, get yourself seated and silence yourselves, even if you feel the need to speak. When you enter these church doors, you will remain silent as the choice of music is played until the end of the service where the young boy will be carried from inside his casket to the big black car. Yes, the one parked outside already, the one with the old man smoking as the driver.

When the casket is open, you can feel free to touch the boy, dressed in the clothes decided by the parents, or drop im a note, something personal. The speakers will finish when the casket will open and I advise to you not to get out of your seats until the funeral host, Mr. Lancer, rises his hands. Yes, he is qualified for this job as well as teaching. It is also a huge precaution that, if you do not wish to view the body, that you don't. Well, I'm sorry for your loss. Our loss, the world's loss. He was indeed, as Ms. Manson has said, a brave young boy.

Okay, hear the music? That's your cue. The church doors open in about 20 seconds. Straighten your ties, your hats, and smoothen out your dresses. Come on, look at your top. Now, go, but walk, and take your seat.

In loving memory of the boy that could have changed the world.

**Summary- **After the mysterious death of Danny Fenton and the disappearance of Danny Phantom, the whole town is in a precautions uproar. With the youngest Fenton child, presumed to have been murdered, Amity Park is the top most dangerous place. But when Danny wakes up after a peaceful rest to find himself unable to speak to the living, he knows he is dead. But being dead does not mean that your free. It's one thing to be dead, and a whole different thing to be DEATH.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Danny Phantom, that belongs to Butch.

**Disclaimer: **I don't _own anything _related to this story line, it is just a coincidence.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Your Cute When Your Dead**

The boy with the blonde hair rested his hands across his muscular lap like he was supposed to. His head was bowed to his chest, touching the thick abs he'd strived so hard to achieve. With his red tie around his neck, Dash Baxter had felt himself losing air, but at the same time, feeling rather handsome. The last time the football star had attended a funeral was when his grandmother had passed in the hospital a few years later. Of course, the funeral had been decorated in a different tone and the church had been dressed in different guests.

The blonde girl in back had come in a daze. Her mental state had been almost a cloned of her friends, who sat in a row in thier bleak black funeral chairs. It had already started, the funeral, when Mr. Lancer, dressed in a overly fitting black over suit had approached the microphone to speak of their loss. The school had been brought almost to a sudden death as the young boy had. Nonetheless, the constant ghost appearances had yet to happen, but the school had seemed somewhat empty. When the overweight schoolteacher took his spot on the stand, the entire church quieted itself.

"We are gathered here today," he started out, not noticing the fact that he was not conducting a wedding, "in memory of a young boy who was taken from us so tragically." The church remained silent; dead as a doornail.

A slight breeze had taken in and though it wasn't raining outside, the fog water had doused the funeral guests as soaking wet. In the background, a tall and loud girl whimpered, her face covered in a black net she could only half see through. "This reminds me of a music video," whispered her blond girl friend next to her, who had been trying to make cheerful comments since the news had spread over the young death. But though Paulina had showed Star the finger, covered in black gloves, she could not help but re-examine the decorations. The picture of the boy lay on top his casket like a flower pot; almost too delicate to touch, but when you douse it with the right picture, it comes right to life. The picture of the boy was, in it's own way, daring and fragile, but it had been one of the most attractive photos of a male that the attractive Hispanic girl had ever seen. His hair had been covering his face like always and his bright eyes shown through his raven locks. He was a fifteen-year-old boy, smiling seductively (or at least to Paulina it had seemed seductive) into the camera lens. With a hard push, she drew her eyes away from the young boy's photo.

_Red and black, _Paulina had thought as she scanned the funeral wet-eyed, _the keys colours of death._ To her it had seemed dark. _Death is dark_, she had settled among herself without realizing how obvious she had sounded, and though she had spent a lot of her time wandering her own thoughts, Paulina's revelation had come to her quickly.

During their school years with him, she had hastily stuck her foot out underneath him, stuffed him in lockers (with his slim body, he still fit with extra room), and made fun of the people he hung out with. Especially Sam.

_Sam Manson, _Paulina thought to herself briskly as, like the actress she could be, she looked over with her eyes to the goth girl in the front line. The girl rocked, back and forth, completely dried-eyed as she waited for the overweight teacher to finish. Something about the girl had scared Paulina, and wether it was the dark make-up around her eyes or the way she had carried herself like death, Paulina was most frightened of what was under all of it.

But though dried-eyed, Samantha Manson had remained the single most miserable person in the funeral room. She hadn't looked different with her funeral clothes; black and purple, but her normal sarcastic smile had disappeared like a ghost from her face. With a huge gulp, and a rising lump in his throat, Mr. Lancer had finished and walked, down-headed back to his seat in the far back, the girl in black following behind him.

She had it in her hands the second the funeral started, the bleak poem she wrote for him, crumbled in a piece of notebook paper from her favourite diary. It had been written after she had heard of his passing, when Tucker had scrambled into her bedroom as she was painting her toe nails with a permeant Sharpe pen. There will always be a black stain running across her bed sheets as a reminder.

But she couldn't read it; the eyes of her living peers staring back at her like hawks. Tucker, who had sat in the front column, couldn't look at her over his glasses. With his head in his mother's chest, he had buried himself away from the church's outside world. _If I can't see them, _Tucker thought, as he once had when he was a child, _then they can't see me. It'll all just go away. _Half expecting to wake up, Tucker buried himself deeper as Samantha cleared her throat and turned to the open casket lying before her. After the speakers had their time to speak, after the prayers were said and the "Im sorry for your loss" had been said, the casket would open, revealing the pale face of the young boy, his hand delicately crossed over his chest.

"...A great friend," She had found herself saying as she stood up on the stand, looking through her floppy black sunhat, "The best, and I am here today," she stopped herself, looking around at the deprived, the miserable, the crying, "to tell you about the best friend I have ever had. He was kind," she said, finding Paulina, Dash and the others in their seats, "_even _to the others that had lacked to show kindness back to him, to save themselves from becoming an outcast." The teenagers embarrassed looks had pleased her, " But to all of you that didn't know my friend, he was braver than any of you could ever know." She looked at the now wet paper in her hands, "I have to go," She said as she had dashed her way from the funeral stand and darted her way out the church doors. No one moved, they didn't even follow her with their eyes as she left; just another miserable girl who lost another misunderstood friend.

"I don't know if I can do it!" Paulina said, wiping her tears and leaning on Tucker's shoulder. She hadn't meant to choose him as he host, but at the moment she had cared about nothing less. The funeral guests that stood in a line in front of them had seemed so calm, approaching the boy like a sleeping child, careful, not to wake him up.

The clothes were picked by the parents, but it is hard to tell. Like a funeral goer, Danny is draped in a oversized black tuxedo, the sleeves broadening his shoulders a little bit. A red clip-on tie rests on his chest, as if the dressers were afraid to use a regular one in fear of losing the young boy's head. There is a red rose in the breast pocket, fake, so it will stay looking real. His pants are made for boy's with a skinny figure and tall legs, and although te pant legs are too big for him, it has been done on purpose; to hide the messy cuts along his ankles alone. His shoes are polished and black and when the young girl peers over to stare into the casket, she can see herself in the reflection it gives off. There is a glove on each hand, the hands with the biggest cuts and bruises from where he'd clung for his life. The hands in which, as the town CSI thinks, had cost him his life. _Danny looks handsome_, everyone thinks as they pass up, _and he always had._

"I think I'm going to hurl," the miserable football player clutched his stomach quickly, his eyes darting from Paulina's body to the floor. They had stood behind the long list of guests, even behind Mr. Lancer, who had stepped up to the casket smoothly.

"You were a good kid," He'd said, laying his hand on the cold body. It wasn't something he had planned, to touch the boy, but at first look, he had seemed impossible to touch. When the cold shrill of his body temperature touched his hands, Mr. Lancer tossed his palm off his and rubbed it quietly, "Rest in peace, son."

**Sam's POV:**

I peek through the colourful church painted windows, the longest one being the less painted one, I can see his face like I did when he was alive: beauty. Raven hair swoops over his forehead like it had always had, and despite the large cut across his forehead, bruise on his shoulder, torn up lip, black eye, and open wounds, the doctors had done an excellent job at cleaning him up. Paulina approaches the casket like a nervous bride walking up her isle; I can see her. With a fierce open of her eyes, she stares into the open casket where he lays, almost peaceful... almost, but not quite. He had always liked her. Was it the way she carried herself? The way she dressed? _It surely_, I think as I stare her down through the window, _wasn't her cheerful attitude. _

Danny liked her because he was supposed too. Every boy in Casper Highschool swooned over the fifteen-year-old freshman like bait, but as I stare at Danny laying there in front of her, I can even see right through him; even not alive, I can see right through him. Paulina leaves with a huge heave of her throat. She deserves this; this pain, suffering. But why couldn't she have died? Why did it have to be him?

Star pats her on the back like the actress that she is and takes one glance at him. She smiles, a sorrowful smile and lets her taller friend lean on her as they make their way back to their seats. Dash is up next, "You are a brave kid," I read his lips like a war general, "I'm sorry." And with a tint of green on his face, Dash bends over and is sick all over the floor in front of the casket.

I leave from my place on the wet soil just as the church doors open and the five teens have his casket hoisted above their heads. They were chosen, no, we were chosen, to hoist his casket into the black car that leads him to the cemetery. They will burry him tomorrow, without a service.

I take my place in the line holding the casket and walk with them as they push, lightly, him into the back of the car and close the doors as their final goodbye. Before it takes off, I cannot help but run after it.

**Two days later; The Fenton Household:**

They are alone, all of them, huddled in their friend's bedroom like statues around the bed. Paulina, who still is dressed in black, leans over the bed and miserably stirs her tea with her finger, "Do we have to wait for Manson?" Her glazed eyes look over at the lone adult in the room, the Fenton's lawyer, who stands at the door and simply nods.

"Everything in here is the stuff that the Fenton's have not stored. Everything in here belongs to the boy," he starts, picking up a teddy bear that had been destroyed over the past years, "You can have what you wish." It is after he explains the rules when the door to the boy's room is swung open and a girl, drenched in the rain, stands before the guests.

"I'm late." She says, fiddling around with her pocket when she notices the teddy bear in the man's large hands. With sharp fingernails, the goth girl rushes to snatch the bear out of his hands and stuff it in her backpack. The lawyer remains still.

"Ms. Manson," he addresses her formally, "I guess that' everyone." The room shudders with the sudden chill of the owner's absence, "I guess you can..." Go crazy? Pick? Grab? Go? The more he stalls, the more the poor man feels as if he is hosting a race about to begin. "I guess you can," He had went through training for this, but the words he had been taught had been so heartless and after all he had cared for the Fenton child ever since he'd first seen him. _Yes, he had been a bit...quirky, _the lawyer had thought to himself has he sat in the room, ignoring the looks of the small group around him, _A little suspicious, but who in the family wasn't?_

And it was true. Jack Fenton, founder of the Fenton Works business had always been dressed in orange, the jumpsuit too tight for his body weight, but he had managed to squeeze himself in. Though getting older, and graying hair, the buff man had seemed to grow with his kindness too. Though he was jumpy, the man had found a way to enjoy being in his presence. With a pleasant attitude and friendly style, he hadn't helped but be able to like, and if nothing, envy him.

Like most men in Amity Park, the Fenton's lawyer had found himself involved in a little crush with the woman of the house. With short red hair and an elegant figure, Maddie Fenton stood tall and lean. Although, dressed in a teal jumpsuit much like her childish husband's, Maddie Fenton had remain very attractive, and although the cooking had ben known to come to life constantly, he had developed a certain admiring for the woman.

The eldest of the children had been almost like the parent watching out for the three others in the house. She had the long red hair like her mother's and her mother's petite figure, but Mr. Callahan, the lawyer, had not been the type to fall for younger women. He had found her attractive, yes, and astonished, at most, that she had only been involved in one relationship, evolving an older boy named Johnny 13. Though both the Fenton parent's have refused to talk about him, Mr. Callahan had heard his name mentioned a couple times in the house by the youngest Fenton child.

"Go?" Paulina says, raising an eyebrow, saying the rest of the sentence for him. Mr. Callahan nodded, waving his hands around as he tried to continue his thoughts.

"Go wild."

Through his bulky black and square glasses, the man could not help finding a picture of the youngest Fenton child stored away neatly in a baby book. _Mr. and Mrs. Fenton must have forgotten this one, _the young lawyer thought to himself has he snatched the fabric covered book off the shelf before the other's could claim it; it was the law. With quick fingers, he opened the book staring down at the messy handwriting filling the pages. Jack Fenton had begun to fill in the books pages, writing with a orange crayon as he went:

**Baby's first year:**

**Baby's first word: **_well, it had been more of a scream._

**Baby's favourite toy: **_The Fenton Finder, until MADDIE took it away from him._

**Baby's favourite show: **_Sesame Street. _

**Baby's best friend: **_DADDY!_

The remaining pages had been written in with black pen, by Maddie, who had taken over the job of filling in the book. This page, unlike all the others, had been stuffed in between the pages neatly. Mr. Callahan had smiled, being able to read the writing with out squinting:

**Other Names for Baby:** _StanleyChase, Jacob_

**Baby's name: **_Daniel Jack Fenton_

**Person who named Baby: **_First name by myself, middle by Jack_

**Birth date: **_December 31, 1990_

**Siblings: **_Jazz Fenton_

He couldn't help it. Like a rose, Mr. Callahan put the book under his arm and wiped a tear from his eyes. So young. When he looked up, the room was empty. _How long have I been standing here? _He thought to himself, _an hour?_

But with the baby book under his arm, the young lawyer descended down the stairs to meet the group, seated on the couch downstair's with the boy's belongings. Just like everyone else, the lawyer bowed his head dismissing them with a final, "I'm sorry for your loss."

* * *

**Candeh- **Read and review. The next chapter will hopefully be as long as this one and you'll find out what's going to happen to Danny. Remember, not enough reviews, not enough chapters. Hah. If you don't like it: Deal with it, because frankly, if you'd like to bitch about it, you can go ahead.

If you want to remind yourself what the fiction is about, or reassure yourself that Danny will come back, re-read the summary. It's there for a reason, my loves.

Candeh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Candeh- **Pew. It's been a while, hasn't it been? But you can't really blame me since I've been on hiatus for like- ever! Anyways, I was sitting here on computer reading all things about poor Danny's cancellation and I was all, _Wait, didn't I sign up for that one site with Danny fictions? _

_And guess what? _Low and behold I had! I'd totally been so caught up with all my other crap that I just.. forgot. I'm so sorry you guys. Not to mention my internet is down and I've actually been on my crappy dial-up lab top. But, low and behold, here I am and- Danny's back for the time being!

By the way, just a question- did anyone see the new Pirates? O my- Johnny has been my obsession for EVER and… ahh! What a hottie. You guys can have your Orlando Blooms and your… Rob Snider's… but I get him. Kay thanks.

Anyways, I'll just continue with where we last left Danny off…

**Chapter 2:**

**Samantha's POV:**

It's too gray to be getting up. Nothing is with colour and nothing is with sound. I feel blended by this massive gray that has pulled a blanket over my eyes, but I stand up and hold my arms out, looking down below the huge building's view.

I've been standing up on top of the huge building for hours and I feel as if no one's even noticed- besides the fact that no one actually has. The sky is too cloudy and I am one single girl who has decided to look down upon worthless Amity Park, seeing it as it is; stripped bare of its dignity. With Danny gone I have found life as gray as today is. Tucker is bland and quite, no longer chasing after Star or her friends. Dash finds himself still poking fun at other kids, but somehow not as much; I saw him walk right by Mikey for several day without ripping his underwear square out of his ass. I frown. Amity Park is not the same since Danny left us.

From the top of the building I can spot the broken glass of a nearby jewelry store. A woman ghost, dressed entirely in designer gowns and earrings had made a spot by seeming particularly joyous the day after Danny's death. Amity's been on alert. They haven't realized that Danny Fenton was their own Public Enemy yet, but that's all natural. I never suspected Amity to be the brightest group in the world.

Nonetheless, they post their posters about hating Danny Phantom and mourn the loss of the fourteen-year-old boy, Danny Fenton. Still trapped in their thoughts that Danny Phantom murdered their teenage citizen, they have posted posters of remembrance all about town. The news swarms all over his story and, just like that, Danny has become Danny Phantom's first murder victim. Their idea of each person spreads like a disease.

In fact, as I stand above the town like a bird, I can make through the cloudiness the town's newest memorial to Danny's death. Where they play the news above the town theater, bright red letter flash high so everyone in the town can read it: "REMEMBER DANNY FENTON". I breathe in the cold air- even through the grayness I can see his face flashing in the billboards.

They chose the worst picture of him, too. I remember that Danny had even, jokingly of course, told me that if he ever died or went missing this would be the picture he would not want to be posted around everywhere. I tried to tell the mayor, too. I went right up to the office with a perfect picture- he was actually smiling too- but they'd turned it down. Apparently they'd wanted to remember Danny as a miserable kid, never smiling in his pictures.

My knapsack dangles heavily on my shoulder, weighing me down and making my risk of falling off the roof of this building higher. I don't care, though, let me fall. Send me hurling down to the cement where my body can land right there next to the giant billboard. Maybe it'll land right next to the memorial wall the town had put together for him. I could land among the papers and cards and flowers- among the candles and bears. I would fall and my knapsack would open, releasing all of the stuff I'd confiscated from his room that night with the others. I've carried them with me for days now.

"Go on, Manson," I drill myself like a regular sergeant, "What's gonna happen if you jump?" And I lower my foot barely off the roof like a natural dare-devil. Of course I'm not going to jump. What do you think I am- Suicidal? No, the only person I'd kill for is gone- and I'm not one to kill for self pleasure. But, as I do stare down at my pitiful town, I fight back the urge not to. Anger builds up inside my chest and I let a heart-felt string of saliva fall down among the people on the streets. I openly hope to myself that it smacked one of them across the face.

Casper High isn't tall enough to peak above the fog to me level. It's squat building sinks low, letting it's roof be visible to everyone on normal grounds. I am not one of those people. I am a bird, ready to leap. I am the only thinker left in this mindless town and I stare down at the clouds that would be hovering over the school if I could see it. School, even, hasn't been the same. Lancer doesn't really talk much. He's rather mopey and timid and his humorless sarcasm has gone with the wind. He's left Danny's desk unoccupied and filled it with cards from the others. The desk haunts us like the ghost he really was. It is my favourite reminder of him- the billboards and posters are something I strive not to look at.

Pauling has kept herself rather on the quiet side as well. She doesn't talk much to Dash and Dash doesn't talk much to her. They pass sloppy notes if they need help, and say nothing of it. Neither walk home anymore, either. I walk by them quietly as they sit on separate side of the sidewalks, waiting for their own parents.

Class entirely has been different. Walking into the room is like walking into Danny's funeral all over again. Everyone's darkly dressed and no one ever utters a word. But the most unique of days had been the days after the funeral. The first day after we'd separated his stuff, we'd arrive in class secretly wearing one of his things; I'd seen Paulina's wrist covered in a bracelet Danny had made a few years ago. There were no comments about Danny making bracelets either- not one.

Dash, in fact, said it was nice and Paulina smiled, playing with the colorful beads all morning. She'd twirl the pink one around and around until the string holding each of them together twisted- even then she spun the beads like a top, and she was quiet. We were all quiet that morning.

It was actually not even Lancer to break the silence that morning. I'd been staring at the nothingness when the loud speakers blare in my ears and a sad and solemn voice protrudes around the room. "Morning Casper High," Says a woman's voice. She leaves out the 'good'- there is no good morning for Casper High school. The voice of our principle pauses for a moment and than continues, "We all know about the tragic loss we have faced two nights ago."

A quiet student in the back meekly gulps, "And if you don't than all you'd have to do is look up." I shoot a glare at him and his moment of glory fades. I know he wasn't making fun of the situation, but trying to lighten it. Either thing is impossible.

The loudspeakers continue, "There is an assembly in the auditorium Friday. If you'd like to come, that would be wonderful." _Click. _Just like that she is gone. No 'good afternoon', no 'Have a great day'.

I stare blankly down below me and lower my feet. Maybe if I jump, I'd be able to see him again. Maybe if I take that leap, I could see his eyes one last time and than, for the rest of our afterlives, we could just be with each other- for the rest of our afterlives. I guess the world wasn't ready for it while we were living.

I breathe in and stare blankly at the ground below me and even looking down I know I am too high up to see all of it clearly. Little dots of people scramble by, stopping every building to look at the Danny remembrance signs. They didn't even know him. None of them actually knew what a great person he was-they just assumed it. They never knew Danny Phantom, either. Without looking into him they'd assumed the worst. And now, their hero is their most feared thing around here. Danny Phantom, to the sorry town of Amity Park, has murdered Danny Fenton. What a sorry town we are.

I heave my shoulders backwards and stare down at the darkness around me. "Do it," I tell myself, "Jump." And I let my foot drop from the height of the building and I sputter downwards, free falling into the signs and the posters all around me. I'm coming Danny…

"SAM!" Two tiny hands wrap around my shoulders and shake my body so hard I'm afraid one of my body parts will pop out. "SAM!"

As total instinct, I yank away from the grasp around me and hold my arms up, ready to strike. And there stands Tucker, dressed sleepiness. She does not smile when he sees me- he hasn't since Danny died, but he lets a pitiful attempt of a chuckle slip from his lips as he watches me loosen my pose, "Am I dead?" I ask him, remembering the jump from the high building around Amity.

Tucker's brow lowers, "Dead? Sam, your in you bedroom- even if you aren't in your bed." I take a look around. I am sitting stumped on the carpet of my floor, Danny's stuff and my knapsack fluttered around me like a field, and I know I am where Tucker says I am. The blank walls of my room laugh at my stupidity and I want nothing more than to paint them a deep, dark black.

"But I jumped!" I say with my arms spread out as far as I can reach them, "I was jumping and falling."

"You were dreaming."

"I felt the air and my stomach falling!"

"It was a dream, Sam."

I pause, still half way convinced, "I felt his arms lifting me up."

We are both silent and Tucker's shoulders fall, "If you felt it," He lies right to my face, "Than he was there." And we stare at each other in our pajamas and our slippers, blank faced.

"Where do you think he is right now?" I ask him, watching the window curtains blow briskly in the cold, gray breeze.

"Any where you want him to be." And that's it. We sit and stand and stare for about an hour before Tucker just turns around and leaves. I am left alone again, holding Danny's journal, the one I'd made him start, and his socks.

I don't know why I kept his socks. And the journal I haven't even bothered to open yet. Around me lies his old shirts and CDs, his little red and white shoes, and almost everything you can think of that resembled a caring and loving teenager. I sigh into my bedroom, making the wind all but quieter for a moment.

It's too gray to be waking up.

**Danny's POV:**

**"**Just let him out of there already, eh, it's been hours!" the voice of a Canadian man echoes around me.

"Hold your horses, Geez, your so impatient, Tom," Another man's voice comes around me and I remain frozen. These voices I do not recognize, "What do you think, Louis? I mean, you make the decisions around here, man." There is silence for only a moment and another man's voice comes. His is stronger and older than the other two voices and there is no character in the way he speaks.

Like a mellow song, he answers them, "A fourteen year old boy," He says, "the entire town thinks that ghost kid killed him."

"Sorry bunch of blokes," This voice belongs to a teenager, sounding only years older than me. She seems to be enjoying the stupidity of the group of people. "Well," she says with an I-told-you-so type of attitude, "I guess there had to be a town of complete morons in one part of the world, eh?"

"I guess, dude," the second voice continues. His voice is raspy and the smell of smoke fills around me, "Thank God I'm not one of 'em."

The girl takes a second to think over and she hints a bit of sarcasm in her voice, "I wouldn't be too sure about that one."

"Pssh, what do you know you little—"

"Aw!" There is another voice and it seems a bit closer to me that the other ones, "He's adorable!" The tone changes and I am unsure if it belongs to a man or a woman, "He probably got all the little girlies in his class, eh?" The others chuckle and there is a bit of silence for a moment.

"Sweetie," Comes the last voice of the group- this one for sure belonging to a woman in her twenties, "He's Danny Phantom. He's probably way to busy for girls." She pauses, "He is adorable though. Don't you think Lily? Just look at his eyes!  
"There closed, Summer."

"Yeah, but he had the prettiest blue eyes."

"Yeah," says the teenager's voice, "If he wasn't- what? - Fourteen, I'd have made a---"

The older man's voice is next to erupt, "You're lucky I'm around you all the time, Lily, because I'd have---hey, you guys, look!" And I open my eyes instantly to several faces around me.

"Well good morning, kid!" The voice of the first man says. He is young and skinny and his brown eyes lean right into mine, "We thought you'd be asleep forever!"

I jump up and scream, "Please! Stay the hell away from me." The blonde woman smiles and comes in closer and I pull my self up and sprint to the other side of the room. But before I know it, my legs give way and I'm hurdling to the ground. I land on my chin and I can hardly feel it throbbing.

"Aw look," comes the half man, half woman voice. It belongs to a man dressed in a silky pink shirt and tight leather pants. Neither of the people have moved from where they first stand and we are halfway across the room from one another, "He's like a baby deer on his feet."

The young woman with light brown hair and a flowing pink dress approaches me, "You're going to need some practice, honey, you haven't been on your legs in about," she turns to the older man in the back, "How long's it been, Louis?"

"48 hours," the man says, checking his watch.

"48 hours." Her blue eyes turn back to me and she offers me a hand, but just when I am about to take it, the rest of the people in back of her step forwards. There is an axe sticking out of the Canadian man's back and the teenage girl has burns up and down her body. The man in pink with chest hairs showing is bleeding from his skull and the oldest man's chest has a rather large hole in it. The pretty brunette woman's face is deeply pale and she looks as if any second, she could fall over gasping for air. I push her hand away and find myself as far as possible as I can be from these people.

"Please!" I yell and I cannot stop tears rolling down my face, "Stay away! Leave me alone!" The teenage girl dressed in pink and black rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically. She is like a babysitter, watching a child cry for his mother.

"You've made him cry, Summer," says the older man and the woman's face sinks, the colour still fading fast.

"I didn't mean to, he just—" She is lost for words.

It is than that the oldest man waddles over to me. He is a bit overweight and he leans to my level, "Danny," He says, "Your in a church. Why do you think your in a church?"

"Oh what?" The man dressed in tight clothes says with a huff, "You gonna play 20 questions with him until he finds out why he's here?" He chuckles, "You weren't that nice to me, Louis."

"You're not even worth the 20 question, eh," The tall Canadian man jokes and the teenager laughs meekly.

"Oh, Tom, you are a catch," Responds the man, but the older man ignores him.

"You're in a church," He continues, but I find myself going blank when I stare at his skull for too long. Blood has always made me a tad queasy, no matter how strange it sounds.

Tom chuckles, "And it's not Sunday either, mate."

They all lean in closer, each ignoring one another's appearance. And finally, the girl dressed in black rolls her eyes, "You're dead." And I see it. The black tuxedo I am in starts to leak bright crimson blood from my body- all around me. No one does anything, no one says anything. But the teenager smiles and leans in closer, letting her bright pink contact lens eyes almost into mine, "Told you!"

That's the last thing I see before I faint, passing out into total darkness.

**Candeh- **review and you'll get the next chapter. Don't like stories being held captive? Too bad. Muwah!


End file.
